


The Past Echoing Through Our Bloodstreams

by Woldy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Arguing, Bars and Pubs, Bechdel Test Pass, Dancing, F/F, First Date, Fisting, Friendship, POV Female Character, Romance, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-26
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woldy/pseuds/Woldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one night stand becomes a detente, then perhaps a happy ending. DH compliant, aside from the Epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past Echoing Through Our Bloodstreams

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Adrienne Rich's _Twenty One Love Poems_. Many thanks to for beta-ing.

**Chapter 1**

“Desire bites  
like a vampire (I want to write)  
but no more like  
the soft and strong brush of a butterfly  
next to our cheek…”  
_Angela Hryniuk _

 

Ginny didn’t often have one night stands, and she certainly hadn’t planned on one tonight.

The plan, insofar as they had one, was to go out so that Kat could get drunk, flirt, and forget about her disastrously bitchy ex-girlfriend. But now, holding her second Cosmopolitan and watching a curvy, dark-haired girl sway her hips tantalisingly, Ginny found the idea of a one night stand distinctly appealing.

The girl turned slightly, bringing herself into profile against the light. The girl’s breasts, Ginny noted were pert and a generous-handful size, beneath which were a flat belly and lovely rounded arse.

It was very sexy and the kind of figure Ginny had wanted herself, once, before she came out and stopped projecting her desires onto other people.

“Stop mooning about and chat her up,” Kat said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Tonight is about you, not me. I’m just here to be supportive,” Ginny replied automatically.

“You’re not much use at the moment,” Kat replied. “Go on. You can be supportive after you’ve danced with her. Besides, it’ll do me good to chat up strangers – I’ll never find a rebound like this.”

“It’s a rebound you’re after is it? I thought you just fancied some flirting,” Ginny asked archly.

“I’ll tell you later,” Kat said, grinning. “Go!”

Ginny wound her way through the dancers and towards the girl she’d been watching. The girl seemed to be alone, which stood out amidst the groups and couples. Even more unusual was the purple flower that Ginny saw in her hair.

Wizarding England was too small to have its own lesbian bars, but they resolved this by going to Lick, the mostly-Muggle lesbian club closest to Diagon Alley. A longstanding code, which Ginny learned from Kat - who’d been told by a Ravenclaw who swore she’d heard it from a girl that once slept with Hooch, stated that witches wore a purple flower to covertly signify their status.

The purple flower in this girl’s hair meant she was a witch, and had probably been to Hogwarts.

The girl spun round, slightly off balance, and caught Ginny staring. Her eyebrow raised.

“Dance with me?” Ginny said, stepping forward and leaning close in order to be heard over the music.

In answer, the girl reached out a warm hand and pulled her forward, winding her body sinuously against Ginny’s own.

Ginny moved with her, drifting a hand slowly down her back to that beautiful arse, and the girl arched back into Ginny’s hand. They swayed together, ignoring the ridiculous hip-hop in the background, and Ginny was intensely aware of the girl’s hand on her ribcage, the contact of their breasts.

She looked up into the girl’s face, taking in amused brown eyes, a rather snub nose and a smile coloured with brilliantly red lipstick.

Ginny leaned close and introduced herself.

“I know who you are,” was the reply. “It’s very distinctive hair. I’m Pansy.”

Pansy. It rung a bell, but there were plenty of people at Hogwarts that Ginny didn’t know, particularly if they were in a different year and didn’t play Quidditch. Still, she didn’t want to talk about school – not with Pansy’s fingers slipping under her top.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Ginny said, as Pansy’s touch sent shivers through her.

“No, I don’t come as often as I’d like,” Pansy replied, dryly. “I see you’re in the same boat. Perhaps we could remedy that?”

Pansy slipped her leg between Ginny’s as they danced, so that their movements caused their bodies to rub together. Pansy’s breath was hot against Ginny’s cheek, her hands moving to trace the skin on Ginny’s back.

Ginny pressed her lips against the curve of Pansy’s throat, and Pansy cupped her hand at the back of Ginny’s neck, pulling her into a kiss.

It started as a teasing, promissory kiss that tasted of cocktails and lipstick, until Pansy slid her tongue into Ginny’s mouth.

The kiss deepened as Ginny arched forward, feeling the softness of Pansy pressed firmly against her, Pansy’s slick mouth greedy against her own.

Pansy pulled away, just barely, to kiss Ginny’s neck and then bit at the curve of her throat. Pain seared, brief and intense like a flame, and desire rushed in to fill the gap. Ginny gasped involuntarily, as Pansy bit her again, but the sound was muffled as Pansy kissed her mouth.

Their movements were passionate, urgent; Pansy’s hand in her hair and another grasping her back. Ginny felt the other girl moan against her mouth and arched against her, deliberately sliding her denim-clad thigh between Pansy’s legs. There was another, louder, moan from Pansy in response.

All awareness of the music and surrounding people now forgotten, Ginny ground her hips against Pansy, seeking touch and friction, as close to fucking as they were to dancing. Pansy moaned and murmured, her breath becoming ragged, as the rhythm of the movements quickened.

Ginny was aware of Pansy’s hands clutching needily at her shirt, of the breathy gasps Pansy was uttering, of the demanding way she kissed – it was hot, and it sounded like Pansy was close, and –

Ginny pressed her body in hard, rocking her hips to get just the right friction between her thigh and the mid-seam of Pansy’s jeans, and then felt Pansy’s nails catch her back as she gasped, “Oh, fuck!”

Even in the low light Pansy was sexy-as-all-hell when she came, soft, sweaty, and dishevelled in Ginny’s arms.

“I can’t abandon my friend yet, but perhaps you can save me a dance for later,” Ginny murmured into her ear.

“If you’re asking whether I’ll take you home or not, the answer is yes,” Pansy said, slightly breathless. “See you in an hour.”

In fact it proved to be rather less than an hour.

Kat had found herself a cute, spiky-haired butch to flirt with, which Ginny was observing supportively. She saw Pansy approach, in what could only be described as a predatory fashion.

“I think it’s time for you to leave with me,” Pansy announced.

Ginny glanced at Kat, who was sitting so close to the young butch that she was practically in her lap.

“I reckon you’re right,” Ginny replied, and bid Kat goodnight.

The air outside was cold and the street was almost deserted. Holding Ginny’s hand, Pansy pulled her around the corner into a side-street, and shoved her up against the wall.

Grasping both Ginny’s wrists, Pansy pressed them against the cold bricks above Ginny’s head and held them there with her left hand. Then she leaned in for a hard, breathless kiss with tongues and teeth.

“I’d like to fuck you,” Pansy said. “Right here. And I think you want me to.”

“Yes, I do,” Ginny said, tilting her head to the side. “But this is a public street.”

“So?” Pansy asked, the expression on her face challenging and openly predatory.

It was the sort of expression that the twins wore when they were inciting someone to cause mayhem; Ginny’d learnt not to trust them even an inch when they looked like that. Still, the expression was different on Pansy. It suited her.

Rejecting caution for Gryffindor courage, Ginny kissed her hard, and moments later felt Pansy’s right hand fumble with the button of her jeans.

“Not here!” she gasped.

As if to underline the basis of Ginny’s objections, a taxi drove slowly past the entrance to the alley. Pansy noticed and her movements stilled.

“Really, we can’t do this here,” Ginny murmured. “Much as I like being pressed against the wall, the Statute of Secrecy says-“

“All right,” Pansy said, rather petulantly. “Care to come home with me instead?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Ginny replied, and felt the tug on her wrists as Pansy twisted on the spot.

Pansy apparated them into a large, rather untidy bedroom. The first thing Ginny saw was a huge black and white photo of a woman in a partly-laced corset arranging a complex hairdo. It was a distracting sight.

Pansy followed Ginny’s line of vision and raised an eyebrow. “I think we can do better than that,” she said, voice low and sexy, and pulled Ginny onto the bed.

They kissed enthusiastically, hands roaming, until Pansy paused to pull off Ginny’s top.

Needing more skin, now, Ginny tugged at Pansy’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Both of their shoes, socks and jeans landed on the floor shortly after.

Pansy lay back on the scarlet sheets, resplendent in a semi-transparent black bra and pants. She was stunning, all soft curves and pale creamy skin against the dark hair and red sheets, and Ginny stood back to appreciate it.

“What are you waiting for?” Pansy said in a challenging tone. “I promise that I taste as good as I look.”

That night there was a lot of sex, and Ginny recalled only bits of it – snapshots.

Ginny remembered Pansy licking and sucking her clit until she came, and then sliding up the bed for a kiss so that Ginny tasted herself on Pansy’s tongue.

She remembered the feel of Pansy under her fingers, warm and wet and shuddering.

Most of all, Ginny remembered Pansy asking ‘Can I fist you?’, and nodding her assent, before Pansy slid a well-lubed hand to the point where she was sure it wouldn’t go any further, then twisted and pushed so that – oh! Ohhhhh.

There was a lot of sweat, shouts and swearing as Pansy alternated between flickering her fingers against Ginny’s g-spot, and fisting her, hard, with intensity beyond anything Ginny’d ever experienced before.

Ginny lost count of the number of orgasms she had around Pansy’s hand before they fell asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ginny was woken in the morning by the welcome sight of dark hair spread across her chest as Pansy trailed kisses down her stomach.

“Seeing as you’re in my bed, I thought I’d take advantage of you again.” Pansy told her, looking up.

The lipstick was gone, but Pansy’s eyes bore smudged mascara and eye shadow, making her look like a cross between a debauched duchess and panda.

“Actually, I think it’s my turn,” Ginny said, rolling a naked and not-unwilling Pansy over onto her back.

Kissing her way round Pansy’s neck, Ginny muttered, “There’s a charm I want to try, and – wait a sec, where’s my wand?”

Ginny found the wand in the pile of clothes on the floor, murmured the charm and felt a sort of blossoming warmth between her legs. When she looked down, there was a reddish-bronze sparkly dildo curving up from her pelvis, one half inside Ginny and the other half intended for Pansy.

“Nice to see that it matches,” Pansy drawled.

“Are you going to take the piss or am I going to fuck you?” Ginny asked, smiling.

“You’d damn well better fuck me,” Pansy said, and groaned as Ginny slid slowly inside her.

Ginny pushed her hips forward, moving more quickly once she felt Pansy’s hand on her arse, pulling her deeper.

It was slightly off-balance and awkward fucking Pansy missionary-style, but they quickly resolved that by rolling over.

Pansy sat astride her with self-confidence and composure that was almost regal – a queen surveying her domain, and finding it good.

Then Pansy started to move, riding the dildo and causing it to nudge satisfyingly inside Ginny with each of her thrusts. Pansy’s breasts bobbed as she rocked back and forth, her once-neat hair becoming wilder.

Ginny reached up to stroke Pansy’s stomach, and then pushed Pansy’s hair back from her eyes so she could watch her expression.

Pansy’s cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted, her dark eyes gleaming. It was a sight, Ginny thought, that she could definitely get used to.

When they eventually ran out of energy, Ginny banished the dildo before taking a shower. The hot water surged over muscles that were surprisingly stiff – more so, Ginny thought, that they’d been since she gave up Quidditch.

Ginny stepped out of the shower, dried herself and re-dressed in her clothes from the previous night. A glance in a mirror revealed that she too looked messy and thoroughly debauched.

“Looks like someone didn’t have much sleep. Those bags under your eyes aren’t flattering, you know.” The mirror told her archly, and Ginny gave it the finger as she left the room.

While Pansy was in the shower, Ginny explored the living room. Her eyes took in the sleek, coffee-coloured sofa, bookcases stacked with novels, magazines and –_ shit _\- a framed picture of Draco Malfoy.

The picture, on closer inspection, showed Malfoy with his arm around a giggling Pansy, who was wearing a horrible pink frilly robe.

They looked young, perhaps during their fourth or fifth years at Hogwarts, and Ginny could see the Great Hall in the background, where dancers were twirling. Ginny guessed that this was the Yule Ball, and saw dancing couple – she suspected it was Harry and Parvarti – who were completely out-of-time.

With a sense of horror, Ginny realised why the name Pansy was familiar. She had gone home with Pansy Parkinson, the girlfriend of Draco Malfoy.

Pansy Parkinson who was amongst the bitchiest of all the Slytherins, one of Umbridge’s favourites.

Pansy Parkinson who’d suggested they send Harry, alone, to face the Death Eaters and Voldemort.

It seemed crazy that the seductive, _gorgeous _woman she’d spent the night with was the hard-faced, prejudiced bitch that Ginny remembered from school. But, with this photograph in front of her, it was undeniably the same person.

“Do you want coffee?” Pansy called, and walked into the room wearing a slinky red dressing gown.

“I’m making espresso, or I’ve got tea,” Pansy continued, and then saw Ginny’s face.

“You were Malfoy’s girlfriend,” Ginny said bluntly.

“When I was fifteen,” Pansy replied, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Malfoy is a Death Eater.” Ginny accused. “You, you were in Slytherin and – well, I didn’t realise. I wouldn’t have come home with you if I’d known.”

“Before you get on your high horse, Weasley, remember you picked me up, not the other way around.” Pansy said haughtily.

“You could have said-“

“Said what?” Pansy spat, accelerating from lazy morning to Bitch Mode in about 3.5 seconds. “What did you want me to say? That I was screwing the villain while you were pining after Potter? Grow up, Weasley. You wanted to fuck me, now you have, and we both enjoyed it. Don’t be so damned self-righteous.”

“You are a first class cow,” Ginny snapped, grabbing her shoes.

“Better than being an economy class hypocrite,” Pansy replied sharply, scraping her wet hair back out of her face. “I was going to ask if you wanted to do this again, but you’ve made your views perfectly clear.”

“Good!” Ginny said heatedly, and pulled on her trainers.

“Fine,” Pansy snarled, flinging open the front door.

Ginny stormed out, and Pansy slammed the door so hard that the wall shook behind her.

 

**Chapter 2**

“Love rode 1500 miles on a grey  
hound bus and climbed in my window  
one night to surprise  
both of us.”  
_Judy Grahn_

 

Following that ridiculous error of judgement – no, _deception by Parkinson_ – Ginny was grumpy almost all weekend. She only started to feel better on Sunday, when lunch at the Burrow was followed by a game of Quidditch.

Quidditch games became a habit after the war, partly because they missed playing after finishing Hogwarts, but mostly – though nobody said it outright – to cheer up George.

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had faltered after Fred’s death and the Burrow was horribly quiet. After several awful months, Charlie suggested a Quidditch game might lift a few spirits. It worked – only temporarily, of course – but well enough to justify playing every couple of weeks.

Over time, the core group of Weasleys was joined by a bunch of their friends and ex-DA members, some of whom came to play while others dropped in for a chat and a few butterbeers. George was doing fine now and Lee Jordan became a partner at Wheezes a year ago, but everyone still got together to play Quidditch.

Today, Ginny played Beater, since she reasoned that hitting things would cheer her up.

She thumped Bludgers firmly at the opposing team (which comprised Bill, Harry, George, Terry Boot, Katie Bell and two of Bill’s mates from work), and watched them swerve violently out of the way.

As Harry flipped upside down to avoid the Bludger whizzing towards his head, Ron said “Blimey, Gin, what put you in such a mood?”

“Nothing,” Ginny snapped, aiming her broom towards the other bludger and giving it a satisfying whack.

The bludger went flying up the pitch, narrowly missing her teammate, Seamus, who looked aggrieved. Ginny probably should have felt guiltier about that.

It was a good game, the highlight of which was a tricky pass by Dean which enabled Hannah Abbot to send the Quaffle soaring beyond Ron’s reach, her face pink with effort and pigtails streaming behind her.

Finally, Charlie captured the snitch in a breathtaking dive, metres ahead of a grumpy-looking Harry. If anything, Harry was even grumpier when Charlie clapped him firmly on the back and said “Good game!” with a broad grin.

Harry rubbed his back gingerly and glared at Charlie’s muscled bulk as he walked away.

“Never mind, mate,” Ron said cheerfully, “You always catch it when Charlie’s not here.”

Harry gave him a baleful look.

“What?” Ron asked, ever the height of sensitivity. “Charlie could’ve played for England.”

Harry seemed unimpressed, perhaps recalling his rather more encouraging behaviour in the Weasley is Our King era, and stomped off towards the sandwiches. Ginny suppressed a smile as Ron turned to Hermione in bewilderment.

After an afternoon of relentless Beating, three butterbeers, a lot of treacle tart and some hilarious comments from Luna, Ginny felt much better.

She was determined to forget the whole Parkinson incident.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“So?” Kat asked as Ginny arrived at work, “How was your weekend? Hours of hot sex with that girl? Tells me _everything_.”

She perched on the edge of Ginny’s desk and smiled brightly.

“She turned out to be a Death Eater, so I’d rather not talk about it,” Ginny said, sharply.

In a concerted effort to bury the subject, Ginny sat down and raised a large parchment between Kat and herself.

“Are you sure?” Kat said, doubtfully. “The Death Easters are in jail and there were dozens of trials. They even imprisoned whats-her-name, that famous bloke’s wife-”

“Elaine Bagman,” Ginny said tetchily. “No, I’m sure. She went out with Lucius Malfoy’s son, who almost murdered Dumbledore.”

“No way!” Kat said. “Your mysterious girl was dating _him_? No wonder she decided she was gay.”

“It was a couple of years before that,” Ginny corrected. “But almost all of those Slytherins were Death Eaters. Two of her friends are in Azkaban.”

“Yet she wasn’t charged? I mean, if a lot of them were Death Eaters then the Aurors would have investigated the others pretty closely. Do you think they’d miss someone? Did she actually, y’know…do anything?”

“She wanted to hand Harry to Voldemort before the battle at Hogwarts!” Ginny snapped, seeing Kat wince and experiencing only the briefest pang of guilt, “And then she walked out. That seems pretty clear to me.”

“Well…half my house left,” said Kat. “I don’t think not-fighting implies you were backing the Death Eaters. If she sympathised with them, then wouldn’t she have stayed for the battle?”

Ginny recalled what Ron told her about Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle’s scheme to bring down Hogwarts from the inside. Pansy hadn’t been with them – but, well, she was probably doing something horrible somewhere else.

“I got thrown out by my mum and still came back!” Ginny retorted, since attacking was the best defence.

Ginny’s rising voice gained them both a sharp look from Gladys, their sort-of-boss, who had Views about those who conducted personal conversations on Ministry time.

“Gin,” Kat said, in a hushed, patient tone “Not everyone is like you. I didn’t fight, and a lot of others didn’t. That doesn’t make us bad people.”

Aware that she was on tricky conversational ground, Ginny skirted around the issue of Ravenclaw’s loyalty. Instead, she reiterated “Parkinson suggested they kidnap Harry and turn him over. Harry told me.”

“Out of curiosity,” said Kat, who was not a woman to pass up the opportunity for good gossip. “When did you find this out? You went home with her, right?”

“I discovered in the morning, because Parkinson is about as honest as a hinkypunk,” Ginny said, sourly.

“_Really_!” Kat said, savouring the syllable. “She told you that after you fucked? That’s _so_ Slytherin! How was the sex?”

“Brilliant, actually,” Ginny replied, before her brain caught up with her mouth. “But that’s not the point! She’s a bitch, it was mistake, it’s over. End of story.”

“Okay, I’m not arguing. I just think you shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Kat said, placating, although Ginny didn’t entirely believe her. “Anyway, I have a date with CJ.”

“Who?”

Gladys cleared her throat loudly, in a manner that was unpleasantly reminiscent of Umbridge. Kat slid off Ginny’s desk and scurried across the room.

“CJ. The girl I met at Lick,” Kat mouthed from her own desk. “We’ll talk at teabreak.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ginny was awoken at some god-forsaken hour of the night by thumping on her window.

Her first thought was of George and Lee, or perhaps Charlie, who sometimes needed a place to bunk when he’d had a few too many drinks. As the thumping continued, Ginny fumbled for her wand and cast _Lumos_, by which light she could see someone at the window. A brief struggle forced up the sash.

“Merlin, Weasley, it took you long enough.”

Ginny could vaguely see dark hair and a pale face in the faltering wandlight, and when added to the haughty, female voice it added up to – “Parkinson? What the hell are you doing?”

“Giving you a second chance,” Pansy replied in a superior tone. “Since apparently you’re passing up the best thing you’ve had in ages. Your mate’s words. As if anyone could doubt it.”

“What?!” Ginny exclaimed, and recast the lumos.

By the brightened wandlight, Ginny saw that Pansy was hovering beside her third-story window on a broom.

In an apparent concession to the pouring rain, Pansy was holding a large green umbrella in one hand. The sodden look of her hair and clothing suggested that the umbrella was not proving efficacious.

Unfortunately, this left Pansy only one hand to control the broomstick, which was lurching as if tossed by a very stormy sea. In the face of this, it was abundantly clear why Pansy never played Quidditch.

“Your mate owled, telling me to come over and woo you,” Pansy said, as a big gust caught the umbrella, almost pulling it out of Pansy’s hand and making the broom veer sideways alarmingly.

Struggling with the broom, Pansy said, “Look, it’s pouring out here, Weasley. Is this romantic-fucking-gesture working or not?”

“No,” Ginny replied, tersely. “But you’re letting in the cold.”

“I’ll come in, then.” Pansy snapped, aiming the broom at the window. The next moment Pansy had dropped the umbrella precipitously, grasped the windowsill in one hand and thrown herself headfirst under the sash.

With some squirming, two wet, lace-stockinged legs emerged, and finally Pansy hauled in the broom. With a wave of Pansy’s wand, the sash window slammed shut behind her. And, suddenly, Ginny’s bed was full of wet Parkinson.

Ginny’s eyes took in Pansy’s stockings, unbuttoned robe and the short, soaking-wet skirt that was clinging to her thighs.

“Is that what you wear for your usual…serenading?” Ginny asked, as icily as she could manage.

“Obviously not, Weasley.” Pansy sneered. “I hardly make a habit of chasing round the country after women with extremely poor judgement.”

Ginny bristled and Pansy visibly reconsidered her approach.

“I came to say…Well, I fancied you and we had great sex. I would have owled if you hadn’t been such a bitch. Then your mate flooed me, imploring me to give you another chance.”

“I really don’t get it,” Ginny said, yawning and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You think I’m judgemental, even though you date Death Eaters, so you flew to my house? Inexplicably. In the middle of the night.”

“Yes, _do_ let’s repeat it ad infinitum,” Pansy responded, sounding cross. “It’s not like I have anything better to do at 2am. It seems you’re not interested, because your friend obviously doesn’t know you _at all_, so I’ll be on my way.”

Pansy reached for the broom and Ginny said quickly “You can’t fly like that. You’re soaking wet and a danger to the public-”

“I’ll apparate,” Pansy interjected, raising her chin.

“And you can’t apparate with a broom, nobody can, otherwise people’d cheat at Quidditch,” Ginny continued.

They glared at each other.

“Since I don’t have a floo, I’ll get you some tea and jumper,” Ginny decided.

“I don’t need pity from Gryffindors,” Pansy replied haughtily, but the effect was undermined by her visible shivering.

Ginny lit the candles with a flick of her wand, pulled a large green sweater out of a drawer and tossed it to Pansy, who sneered at it and then put it on. The ensemble of a Weasley-jumper and a black-miniskirt looked ridiculous.

“Come on,” Ginny said, stomping off to the kitchen.

Under the bright kitchen light, Pansy’s dripping hair clung to her cheekbones and the moisture was visible on her skin. Ginny found her gaze drifting down to Pansy’s long, almost bare, legs. She looked up to find Pansy watching with more than a trace of smugness.

Blushing, Ginny turned away, made tea and passed a mug to Pansy, who wrapped her hands around it. As she sipped, Pansy started to look warmer.

“Do you want a shower?”

“Is that a proposition?” Pansy asked, smoothly.

“No, it wasn’t,” Ginny said. “Are you really still trying?”

“I will if you’re interested.”

“Only a Slytherin could attempt seduction while looking like a drowned rat,” Ginny said, with grudging amusement. “You seriously came here to talk to me?”

“It’s a grand, dramatic gesture,” Pansy explained, waving loftily with the hand that wasn’t holding tea. “Since you picked a fight on Saturday, there wasn’t exactly time to discuss things. The fact that I testified against Draco, for instance. Or how much I’d like to touch you again.”

Pansy leaned forward, her eyes intent, and slid her hand over Ginny’s on the tabletop.

“Really?”

“Very much.”

“No, I meant - Malfoy.”

“Weasley,” Pansy said, her voice low. “I haven’t gone out with a man since I was fifteen. I fancy _you_.”

“Call me a cynic, but this looks more like a booty call than a ‘big romantic gesture’,” Ginny observed.

“The two aren’t incompatible.” Pansy replied, and kissed her.

It was softer than their previous kisses, almost tentative. Then a cool hand brushed Ginny’s neck, and sparks coruscated down her spine. Their mouths opened, and Pansy’s tongue moved tantalising against Ginny’s own. Suddenly Ginny wanted to kiss her harder, to press Pansy up against the wall and – _Malfoy, Malfoy, Death Eaters!_ her conscience screamed.

Ginny pulled back sharply, blushing. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said firmly. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

Pansy regarded her with dark, glittering eyes. “I’m here to ask you out. If you accept, there can be hearts and flowers and all the talk about Death Eaters that you want. I’ll take you to dinner and answer all your questions…but only if you say yes.”

“_All_ my questions?”

“Within reason,” Pansy clarified.

“And how were you planning on persuading me?” Ginny enquired. “Because, frankly Parkinson, nocturnal pleas from a sopping-wet Slytherin aren’t my idea of a ‘romantic gesture’.”

“Since chocolates weren’t going to cut it, I thought I’d use my sexual wiles,” Pansy said, leaning forward so that her breath flickered against Ginny’s cheek.

It was clearly a practiced manoeuvre, which would probably have been more effective if Pansy’s cleavage wasn’t wholly obscured by a large green jumper.

“Maybe I should start with something smaller… like persuading you into the shower?”

“Weeell,” Ginny said, assessing this and letting her gaze idly settle on Pansy’s legs.

It probably wasn’t a good idea, but Parkinson was here, and appealing, and how much damage could another night together do? Besides, there was an outside chance that Parkinson wasn’t evil. In the middle of the night, this passed for logic.

“You do look pretty wet. And I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you getting sick.”

“I could make a lot of bad puns from that sentence,” Pansy said, “But there are better things to do with my mouth.”

They both leaned forwards and Pansy’s tongue was hot in Ginny’s mouth, Pansy’s hand cupping the nape of her neck and twining in her red hair.

Ginny reached for Pansy’s fingers, grasped them firmly and tugged Pansy to her feet. “Shower,” she ordered, and they kissed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

Pansy looked sexy even as she peeled off the ugly, over-sized jumper, but it paled in comparison to the sight of her wearing nothing but stockings.

Pansy reached for her wand to remove the Stay-Up charm and Ginny caught her wrist, leaning in to remove the stockings herself. Pansy almost purred as Ginny ran her tongue along the inside of her thigh, then murmured “God, come on Weasley,” as Ginny drew one stocking down slowly, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake.

“Just for that, I’m tempted to make you wait,” said Ginny, removing the second stocking with the same unhurried air.

“Bitch,” Pansy said, biting back a moan. Then, standing naked, she tossed back her damp hair and stepped into the shower.

Water streamed over Pansy’s head, slicking down her black hair. The lithe, sleek curves of her body reminded Ginny of a seal, or perhaps a Siren luring innocent – or not so innocent – Gryffindors to their wholly enjoyable doom.

Pansy looked far too good to be left in the shower alone.

Ginny flung off her pyjamas and stepped under the hot spray of water, moving behind Pansy and caressing her neck. Pansy arched into the touch, and Ginny slipped an arm round her, trailing a soapy hand over Pansy’s breasts.

She rubbed Pansy’s nipple, hearing the pleased murmurs as lather glided from Pansy’s breast, down her belly and into the dark curls. Ginny’s hand followed the trail of bubbles as Pansy purred again, squirmed, and then in a sudden, giddy moment they both slipped and narrowly avoided falling over.

“Against the wall,” Ginny suggested, pressing Pansy forwards.

Before there was time to reply, Ginny had reached for her wand and bound Pansy’s hands to the tiles.

Pansy glanced over her shoulder and gave Ginny a sultry, thoroughly approving look. “You’ll need more soap, Weasley,” She drawled, “I’m feeling _extremely_ dirty.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ginny said, dropping her wand and reaching for the shower gel.

Pansy’s arse was round, fantastically squeezable, and slick with water. Ginny heard Pansy’s whimpering and slid her right hand slowly down Pansy’s stomach, then lower still. Pansy moaned as Ginny touched her clit, slowly at first, then quicker in response to the urgency of Pansy’s movements.

Ginny brushed a finger against the opening of Pansy’s arse, and felt Pansy pushed back against her hand.

“Fuck, yes!” Pansy panted, and Ginny cast a quick spell for lube before sliding her finger tentatively into Pansy’s arse.

“More,” demanded Pansy, and Ginny eased in a second finger, moving in coordination with her right hand against Pansy’s clit. The feel of Pansy, trapped and squirming between her arms, gave Ginny a heady sense of power.

Pansy’s moans became louder, more guttural, and Ginny finger-fucked her harder, relying on the hands pinned against the wall to hold Pansy up. Pansy was writhing with greedy abandon, her hips canting back and forth between Ginny’s hands, her head thrown back.

Pansy’s voice echoed off the tiled walls, a jumble of incoherent noises interspersed with more, yes, now, fuck. She was hot and wet against Ginny’s hands, and Ginny kissed the curves of her back, licked at the mingled sweat and water which ran down her spine.

“Ohhh!” Pansy cried, and came hard, clenching around Ginny’s fingers.

Ginny stretched forward, guiding Pansy’s head round for a kiss. Their tongues met as water streamed down their faces, running into their mouths.

Pansy spluttered and pulled away. “Merlin, Weasley, we’ll drown in here,” she said, and Ginny released her – countering a brief, wicked temptation to the contrary - so that they could retreat to bed.   * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After far too little sleep, Ginny was woken by the screeching fireworks of the genuinely alarming Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes prototype clock.

“Eugh, make it shut up,” Pansy grumbled, pulling the duvet over her head.

“Shit! No, it’s eight. We need to get up!” Ginny said, scrambling to quiet the alarm, which – as if sensing their reluctance – scurried across the floor in a spirited bid to evade capture.

“Immobulus!” Ginny cast, and firmly subdued the now stationary clock. She turned back to the bed, where a lump remained under the covers.

“Really, Parkinson, move. It’s late.”

Pansy emerged from the bedclothes, her usually immaculate hair looking straggly and rumpled. “There’d better be coffee,” she said darkly.

After toast and two cups of coffee, Pansy was considerably more coherent, though she still had the air of one who’d missed several hours sleep. Evidently Pansy noticed this, since she disappeared into the bathroom and could be heard muttering cosmetic charms.

Ginny glanced up at the kitchen clock, and hastily swallowed her last mouthful of cereal. “I need to go in less than ten minutes,” she called.

Pansy emerged from the bathroom looking much neater than she went in. The previously crumpled clothes were now pressed, and Pansy’s hair was smooth and shiny again. Ginny also suspected that last night’s miniskirt had grown several inches longer.

“Fine,” Pansy said, “But first you need to give me an answer about dinner.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Luxuriant food and great sex,” Pansy replied. Then, in acknowledgement of Ginny’s frown, she continued “And you can torture me with nasty questions about my past.”

“Why are you so keen on this?” Ginny asked bluntly.

“Slytherins have great ambition; we like a challenge,” Pansy said, flashing her predatory smile. “What d’you expect from a girl who deals in takeovers?”

“I’m something to chase, am I?”

“You understand that Weasley,” said Pansy with a cool confidence. “I’ve watched you play Quidditch.”

They eyed each other for a moment, the charged air between them.

“Dinner, Friday. I’ll owl you the location.” Pansy stated, and Ginny shrugged her assent.

“Now, I believe I owe you a spell against the wall,” Pansy said, moving towards Ginny and reaching a hand out to cup her breast. She guided Ginny back against the kitchen counter.

“I’m due at work in five minutes,” Ginny pointed out, as common sense battled against temptation.

“Then I plan to make you come within four minutes,” Pansy replied.

Pansy kissed Ginny in the way that was now becoming familiar: a clever, demanding mouth that made Ginny want to fuck her and curse anyone who got in the way.

There was currently no need to curse anyone, because Pansy had her pressed firmly against the cupboards and was unbuttoning her jeans.

Pansy kissed and licked down her collarbone, one hand teasing Ginny’s nipple and the other moving exquisitely between her legs. Ginny moaned loudly and saw Pansy smile.

“You’re so wet. You love this don’t you?” Pansy asked, biting her neck.

“Yes, fuck,” Ginny said, claiming Pansy’s mouth for a kiss.

Then Pansy slid two fingers inside her and curved them just right, and Ginny forgot everything except the feel of their bodies pressed together and of Pansy’s hand.

“You’re not as straight-laced as I thought, Weasley,” Pansy murmured, nipping at her earlobe. “I like it.”

Pansy’s thumb quirked under to flicker against Ginny’s clit, and Ginny came with a rush.

Pansy smiled as she withdrew her hand, looking pink and a little breathless. Then she kissed Ginny, slow and deep.

“Turns out that you’re beautiful when you’re fucking, Weasley.”

“Likewise.”

“Luckily,” said Pansy, glancing at the kitchen clock, “That took a mere three and a half minutes, which gives me time to fix my lipstick. See you Friday.”

Seconds later, the lipstick was the last thing Ginny saw. As they apparated away, Pansy’s scarlet lips seemed to hang like the grin of a Cheshire Cat.

 

**Chapter 3**  
   
“What six words do you use to announce yourself to the world?  
Do you hyphenate, abbreviate, hesitate, lie?  
Embellish the obvious, hide the same?  
…If you only have words, choose your words carefully.  
Because they can get you fed. Get you off.  
Get you heard. Get you hard. Get you killed.”  
_Thea Hillman_  
   
    
_Click, click, click, click. _  
   
Sipping her martini, Ginny glanced up to see a pair of black stilettos approaching across the marble floor. The shoes were black patent, but betrayed flashes of red sole: sleek, dangerous and unambiguously sexy.  
   
Ginny knew who it was without needing to look any further, but looked anyway because she thought she would enjoy the sight. Her slow gaze upwards revealed grey wide-legged trousers, a tailored black shirt that implied cleavage without baring any and an ostentatiously expensive necklace.   
   
Pansy Parkinson looked every inch the city girl, from her sexy black heels to the shining black bob. Her mouth curved into a scarlet smile.  
   
“You look lovely, Weasley,” she said, leaning in for a brief kiss and then settling into her chair.   
   
Ginny was aware that almost the whole restaurant was watching: Pansy had made a big entrance and two women kissing was hardly common practice in Diagon Alley.   
   
Especially in Ruperts, which was the preserve of bankers, traders and the independently wealthy. This was the territory of the Old Boys Club to which Pansy, by virtue of her career at Gringotts, had gained admittance.   
   
The choice of shoes and restaurant, Ginny realised, were Pansy’s way of demonstrating that she was rich, successful and – not incidentally – sexy. The memory of a sodden, vulnerable Pansy wearing a Weasley jumper was completely incongruous.  
   
A waiter placed a gimlet in front of Pansy, who sipped it.   
   
“Isn’t that mostly lime?” Ginny asked, doubtfully.  
   
“Yeah,” Pansy drawled, sipping again.   
   
She sent Ginny a seductive look over the frame of the sleek rectangular glasses she was wearing, and continued, “Nice and tart. Just how I like it.”  
   
Ginny was tempted to laugh, but instead she said “We came here to flirt, then?”  
   
“And eat thoroughly luxuriant food,” Pansy agreed. “They have the most wonderful chocolate puddings, and the duck consommé is to die for.”   
   
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw a tall man in an expensively cut robe who was watching them from a nearby table. “There’s a man on your left eavesdropping,” Ginny said, lowering her voice.   
   
“It’s my coworker Patrick,” Pansy said, calmly. “I earned three times his bonus last year, so he’s probably trying to get tips.”   
   
“Muffliato,” Ginny murmured, and saw shock on Pansy’s face. “What? I learned it from Harry. Very useful.”  
   
“Really? Professor Snape told his Prefects that he invented that charm. It’s our secret to silent movement and capturing miscreants.” Pansy paused, looking thoughtful. “Potter must have some interesting secrets.”  
   
“I wouldn’t know. And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.”  
   
Pansy’s lips quirked and she leaned forward a touch, revealing a creamy triangle of skin under her collarbone. Ginny could see the lace of her bra patterned through the shirt.  
   
The impossibility of having Pansy probably served to heighten her reputation and allure amongst the city boys. Ginny was certain that Pansy used every advantage she had when was working. Hell, she used every advantage she had just to get laid.  
   
“I do like it when people keep secrets,” Pansy mused. “It’s so much fun finding them out.”  
   
“Did you bring me here to display, or is showing off to your co-workers merely a bonus?”  
   
“Why wouldn’t I show off, when I’m sitting with the most beautiful woman in the room?” Pansy asked archly.  
   
“Enough,” Ginny protested. “It’s ridiculous. And I was serious about us needing to talk.”  
   
“I know, and we will, though not in public. First, as promised, I’m taking you to dinner.” Pansy said, her voice low and apparently sincere.  
    
“All right,” Ginny said, somewhat placated. Then, after a considering pause. “Why the glasses?”  
   
“Would you believe that I need them to deal with all the numbers and small print?”  
   
“No,” said Ginny, chancing her intuition. “I think it’s part of your act. So that you look clever and intimidating.”  
   
Her guess was borne out by the mock-severe look Pansy gave her over the rim of the glasses. “I’m perfectly clever and intimidating without them, Weasley.”  
   
“I look forward to you showing me that.”   
   
“Being clever and ruthless will get you a long way,” Pansy said, with a calculating smile. “It earns me the kind of bonuses that buy a lot of fabulous shoes…and the occasional girl to put in them.”  
   
The flirting was fun, and Ginny’s mood improved with every course that arrived – it wasn’t that her doubts could be assuaged with food, exactly, but it is difficult not to eat _really _good food without experiencing some contentment.   
   
The duck consommé was divine as promised, and her salmon was perfectly cooked, but the pudding was undoubtedly Ginny’s favourite. The chocolate torte was rich, dark and every-so-slightly bitter; Ginny savoured every mouthful and Pansy watched with a predatory look in her eye.  
   
As the last bite of chocolate melted in Ginny’s mouth, she looked up to see Pansy finish her cardamom crème-brulee with an expression of lazy pleasure.   
   
“Well, thank you for dinner,” Ginny said. “It really was lovely.”  
   
“Absolutely my pleasure,” Pansy said, signalling minutely to the waiter. “Now, since we have things to discuss, how about coming to mine for port? It goes very well with chocolate.”  
   
                                                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
   
It was cold in Diagon Alley and drizzling slightly, so Ginny was glad that Pansy apparated them promptly into her flat. At least, Ginny presumed it was Pansy’s flat – she couldn’t see much, because it was completely dark.  
   
Pansy clicked her fingers and several lamps turned on, revealing the living room.  
   
“Muggle technology” Pansy explained, in answer to Ginny’s quizzical expression. “I’m not great at wandless magic. Now I’m letting you into all my secrets.”  
   
“Are you?”  
   
“Looks like it.” Pansy said, thoughtfully. “Have a seat, I’ll get our drinks.”  
   
Ginny lounged on the sofa, kicking off her shoes, and Pansy returned shortly with two crystal glasses containing blackberry port. The port was delicious, sweet and slightly acidic on her tongue.  
   
“So you’ll answer my questions?”   
   
“Ye-es,” Pansy drawled, “But for every question answered, I get to kiss you.”  
   
“Fine,” Ginny said, seeing the nature of this game. “Why Draco Malfoy?”   
   
“He was there and better than the alternatives. Don’t mis-interpret it, Weasley; our teenage dating was hardly a great passion.”  
   
“When did you end it?”  
   
“End of fifth year, as I’ve told you,” Pansy said. “That was two questions.”  
   
She reached for Ginny’s hand, removed the port glass, and placed a slow kiss on the back of the hand. A second kiss was pressed lightly onto Ginny’s wrist.  
   
Without removing her hand, Ginny asked, “Did you know he was a Death Eater? And that his father was?”  
   
“There was no secret about Lucius,” Pansy replied, turning Ginny’s arm gently and dropping two languorous kisses to the skin inside the wrist, which sent pleasant shivers up Ginny’ arm.   
   
“I knew Draco was involved - which was utterly stupid of him - but he was mostly alright. Sometimes, at least. He should’ve stopped listening to his idiot father years ago,” Pansy continued, with the critical but broadly affectionate air that Ginny recalled Ron using about his owl Pigwidegon.  
   
Ginny didn’t think Malfoy’s behaviour was ‘mostly alright’ at all, whatever stories Harry had told after the war, but this wasn’t the time for that debate. Instead, she persisted, “Were there others?”  
   
“Crabbe and Goyle. I believe, Nott. Perhaps a few others, but it…wasn’t openly discussed.”      
   
“Even when Snape was Headmaster?”  
   
“It wasn’t talked about,” Pansy’s dark eyes met hers. “Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters. A lot of us were trying to stay out of it.”  
   
Pansy shifted closer on the sofa and placed a gentle kiss inside Ginny’s forearm, causing the shivers to resume.  
   
“Well, the rest of the school assumed all Slytherins sided with Voldemort. You never came to the DA or-”  
   
“Weasley,” Pansy said, in the patronising aristocratic tone which had made her hated at school, “Slytherins are cunning and ambitious. Give us credit to be more than minions. Most of us had the good sense to avoid half-blooded meglomaniacs – Potter included.”  
   
“Harry was NOT-“ Ginny began in outrage.  
   
“You were his cannon fodder, like it or not,” Pansy interrupted. “Potter never told any of you what he was doing and your fighting was just the sideshow. Following orders which get you killed for no purpose sounds like being a minion to me.”  
   
“Some people care! We care enough to fight for things that are important to us. Voldemort possessed me in first year; I could have died when I was twelve years old! What did you expect me to do?” Ginny said heatedly.  
   
“I understand that gives you a personal interest,” Pansy acknowledged. “I like vengeance as much as the next girl. More, probably, which is why there was no second volunteer to hex me with antlers. But your Dumbledore’s Army” she said the name with scorn, “was being stupid.”  
   
“Would you have wanted to continue with Voldemort at the Ministry?” Ginny demanded. “You don’t know anything about the people in the DA, or Neville, or-“  
   
“Don’t be delusional,” Pansy said scathingly, “You can’t have twenty revolutionaries in a crowded school without people noticing. Of course I knew what was happening; Padma told me everything. What kind of Prefect do you take me for?”   
   
“But…You never…” Ginny said falteringly.  
   
“Intervened? Tortured people? Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve been saying? I was trying to stay out of it; to keep the younger Slytherins safely out of it. Merlin knows, nobody else was trying.”  
   
Ginny stared, temporarily lost for words.  
   
“The goal isn’t to rush bravely into battle, the point is to know how to _win_. Whatever happened to tactics? Your Gryffindor bravery is nothing by pig-headed pugnaciousness.”  
   
Ginny opened her mouth, reconsidered, and then closed it again.  
   
“If that was a pug comment, I’ve heard it all before.” Pansy said flatly.  
   
“So you were just going to stand by?” Ginny asked.  
   
“Yes,” Pansy said. “That’s what Slytherin did, hence almost everyone is still alive, which is more than the other houses can say. It really wasn’t our battle. After all the fighting and all the deaths, Potter killed He Who Shan’t Be Named just as he could’ve at the beginning. Which was exactly what I suggested.”  
   
“It wouldn’t have worked at the beginning. Harry said so.”  
   
Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure of that, are you? Certain enough to risk people’s lives? I suppose your opinion is your prerogative, Weasley. Personally, I didn’t trust Potter as far as I could spit. He never gave me reason.”  
   
“Harry wouldn’t lie, he was trying to save people. We had to trust him,” Ginny said defensively.  
   
“Potter sliced Draco’s chest open and then lied about it,” Pansy retorted, “I can see it didn’t perturb you, since the two of you celebrated his murder attempt by getting off with each other.”   
   
“Malfoy was fine,” Ginny snapped, glaring.  
   
“Eventually. Which would evidently have proved the curse harmless in your eyes,” Pansy replied, glaring back over her trendy glasses. “If it hadn’t cut _your_ brother’s ear off.”  
   
Ginny thought of George’s missing ear. She thought of Fred, and of the green flare of Bellatrix’s killing curse as it barely missed her. She remembered the sight of Lupin and Tonks, of Colin Creevy, and all the bodies laid out in the Great Hall.     
   
“I regret a lot of things, but I trusted all three of them. Ron’s my brother and Hermione’s one of my best friends and Harry – well, he’s Harry. We had to trust them, whatever the cost,” Ginny said in a tired, uneven voice.  
   
Pansy inclined her head in what might have been sympathy. “Then that’s how we’re different,” she said.   
   
There was a long silence. Ginny sprawled on the sofa, feeling sad, drained and exhausted.  
   
Pansy sipped the last of her port and asked, “Finished with the questions?”  
   
“I suppose,” Ginny said, stifling a yawn. “For now. I’m sure mum and Hermione will want to interrogate you themselves.”  
   
Ginny only realised the implications of that comment when she saw Pansy’s eyes widen in surprise. “What? Not planning to stick around?”  
   
“I might as well,” Pansy said in an unconvincingly nonchalant tone. “Now that I’ve gone to all this effort.”  
   
Pansy leaned in for a kiss, but paused as Ginny yawned. The gentle, rather chaste, kiss was pressed to the corner of her mouth.  
   
“Let’s go to bed,” Pansy suggested, and for once her tone implied slumber instead of sex.  
   
 The bed was big, comfortable and conducive to nakedness. Ginny felt soft skin press against her back and was aware of a warm arm curling around her as she slipped into sleep.  
   
                                                   * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
   
Ginny woke to find Pansy nestled behind her and fingers trailing over Ginny’s side as Pansy kissed the back of her neck. “Mmmmmn,” she murmured sleepily.   
   
“Morning,” Pansy said.  
   
Ginny cracked open an eye. “Do I have to be nice now that we’re dating?” she asked, “’cos you could bugger off and let me sleep.”  
   
“We’re dating?” Pansy enquired, between kisses. “I’ve just been in it for the sex.”  
   
“Bullshit,” Ginny said, batting Pansy’s hand away. She stretched out her arms, wriggled her body and felt her brain gradually wake up. “You’ve been far too much bother just for sex.”  
   
“Well you are stubborn, argumentative, judgemental, and you always think you’re right. Really, you’re fortunate that I’m tolerant enough to fuck you,” Pansy said loftily.  
   
“I wondered what it was you liked about me,” said Ginny lightly, rolling over and catching the soft expression on Pansy’s face. “Good thing I enjoy fighting.”  
   
“There’s always the option of make-up sex,” Pansy said, reaching out to cup Ginny’s breast. “Besides, you owe me several kisses.”  
   
“I think we’re due some makeup sex,” Ginny remarked, arching into Pansy’s touch as a finger circled her nipple. “Shame we didn’t last night, because those were incredibly sexy shoes.”  
   
“Accio Louboutins,” Pansy commanded, and the shoes whistled through the air and into her free hand. “Do you mean these shoes?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“You find them sexy, do you?” asked Pansy, sliding out of bed and toeing on the shiny black heels, their red underside gleaming tantalisingly.  
   
“Mmmn-hmmn.”  
   
“Luckily for you,” Pansy said, in a dangerously seductive tone, “I know how to fuck in high heels. I suppose you’d like a demonstration?”  
   
“What do you think?” Ginny challenged.  
   
Pansy tilted her head to one side, assessing this.   
   
She was naked, apart from dark green lace knickers, which skimmed her hips and emphasized the round, luscious curve of her arse. The heels made her several inches taller than Ginny and caused her posture to shift so that her breasts spilled forwards and her arse stuck out a little.   
   
It was extremely feminine, a little ridiculous, and nonetheless just about the hottest thing Ginny had ever seen.  
   
“I think you’re going to enjoy it so much that you’ll be moaning, begging me to fuck you more and harder,” Pansy said, with satisfaction. “And I think until you’ll look stunning when you’re sweaty, screaming and coming all over my desk.”  
   
Pansy was smiling, her eyes crinkled at the corner. Despite her tousled hair and smeary mascara, she retained the cut-crystal accent and bossy tone that Ginny found so annoying. Annoying, but…very, very sexy.  
   
“I warn you, Weasley,” Pansy drawled, as she threw back the duvet and leaned in to nip at Ginny’s now-exposed thigh. “Fucking me can be extremely addictive.”  
   
Pansy licked a hot trail up the inside of her thigh and, biting back a moan, Ginny had to concede that she was right.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Past Echoing Through Our Bloodstreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034870) by [sisi_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/pseuds/sisi_rambles), [Woldy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woldy/pseuds/Woldy)




End file.
